


keeper

by adaosix



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Healing, Homophobia, M/M, Necrophilia, Non-Consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-25 22:47:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16207256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adaosix/pseuds/adaosix
Summary: Life is proceeding; that individual is gone, but life goes on. Yukhei's life goes on.





	keeper

**Author's Note:**

> hello. im posting this back. some info might not be true and lacking. you might not approve of the dialogue. also, sticker happy next week i guess? idk
> 
> WARNING: STORY CONTAINS NECROPHILIA

 

 

_“It’s such a profound, stunning moment to see the body finally as a shell and devoid of that person._

_In that moment of transition around the body,_ _you’re really in touch with the continuum of life,_ _that life is proceeding._

_That individual is gone, but life goes on.”_

 

_-_

_Dr. B.J. Miller_

 

 

 

 

 

  
It was of progression, growth. Influence. Words were ineludibly needed. They just needed to be aware of each other’s existence. Mark and Yukhei met just like that seven years ago.

 

  
-

 

 

There are a lot of things that can be heard inside Mark and Yukhei’s dimly-lit apartment. A commercial for yet another overvalued bath soap is playing on the television, followed by another, and then another, until the screen shows a continuation of a long-since yielded series.

 

On the far end of the room just by the window is a radio atop an old desk. It does anything but make comprehensible words and sounds, as the signal proves weak in that far end. The static battles with the dialogue on the television, and it creates a jumbled mixture of unpleasant noise that makes anyone within radius step back and withdraw.

 

On the center is a couch, where Yukhei is crouched, grunting and moaning, and below him is Mark, unmoving, pale, and silent.

 

“Say my name, Mark.”

 

Despite the lingering absence of heat and pulse, the unmoving chest, and the unresponsive cock, everything has yet to sink in for Yukhei. The arm of the couch is clutched so tightly by his arms for better leverage, thrusting his cock inside of Mark as equally hard, as he is gripping the fabric of the furniture.

 

The muddled noise from the television and radio rumbling within the living room drowns out anything that comes out of his mouth. Yukhei only hopes it useful, as they are crammed between two other apartments: On the left resides a family of five, the three children having grown awfully close to both of them ever since they’ve moved here four years ago, their parents have yet to accept befriending two men in a romantic relationship even after having proved there’s nothing wrong with it at all. On the right resides a couple, broken and unstable. They’ve lived there for only two weeks.

 

“You feel so good, Mark. Do you feel good?” Yukhei asks aloud, lips only centimeters away from the crown of Mark’s ear. He asks again, in low, ragged speech. “Does my cock make you feel good?”

 

There is nothing to wait for, unfortunately. His voice only becomes wearier, and every syllable he speaks only wrap themselves into grief and nothingness as they hit the stale air. Mark only lies under him.

 

Yukhei feels no resistance as his cock continuously slides in and out of Mark’s ass in an ugly rhythm. Yukhei has grown accustomed to the tightness that has always wrapped around his leaking dick all these years that it doesn’t feel right at first; the absence of the familiar heat, the emergent slack.

 

Mark’s legs are spread open; one leg is draped over the backrest and the other is hanging languidly on the other side, toenails languorously dragging on the wooden surface of the floor every time Yukhei pushes in with much more vigor than normal. Yukhei grunts, feeling his stomach churn when he’s balls-deep inside what once was tight flesh. Now it’s just anything but that, and Yukhei adjusts himself once more.

 

“Maybe I just didn’t hit it right, yeah? The spot that makes you fucking scream your lungs out,” he murmurs in a tone wrapped up in disbelief, licking the white expanse of the younger’s paling chest as he positions his cock in a different angle. The head hits something particularly firm and he knows he’s hit it but no sound comes out of Mark’s mouth, and so he rams into it again, and again, hoping for immediate tension and sound, only to be left dissatisfied of the nothingness.

 

He hovers his head above Mark’s, and he looks so awfully pale and dull that Yukhei stops altogether just to pinch his cheeks, wanting it red and puffy, but all he’s caused is anything but. The tips of his fingers are simply met with hardened skin.

 

Mark’s lips feel cold when Yukhei greets them with his own, the chapped surface merely there. Yukhei bites into the paling flesh and ignores the budding smell. It travels from Mark’s slacked mouth and into his nostrils, the stench not entirely strong but it’s there, and it’s nothing he’s ever had the chance to smell before but he reasons it okay because it’s Mark. He lets his tongue travel inside with more force than usual, dragging parallel the line of Mark’s teeth, bites wherever. The walls feel unyielding and lacks of the usual heat when he drags the muscle along its surface and Yukhei’s heart starts to ache, realizes it devoid of love but only of anguish and frustration. It shouldn’t be like this.

 

He rams his cock once again through gritted teeth, lips scrunched up in a way that vaguely resists the growing tremble as he miserably hunts for anything that doesn’t convey a person gone and passed.

 

He feels light despite the hard ramming and heavy sweating, figures he should feel heavy of the noise on his back, but the lingering in his head feels otherwise once he realizes something is missing.

 

“Baby, why aren’t your arms wrapped around me?” Yukhei whimpers as he pulls out halfway, leaning back and craning his neck upwards only to stare at the cracked ceiling for a few seconds, eyes bereft of anything at all, mouth hanging open from the pleasure and everything but, and then rams his cock back inside so hard Mark’s body shifts upwards from the force.

 

He leans down once again, and Mark’s arms feel as equally heavy as Yukhei’s heart when he forces them to sling around his neck, only for them to slide off of the skin of his shoulders, right arm hanging off the edge of the couch, left arm stuck in between Mark’s languid body and the backrest, both barren of any control.

 

“Come on, Mark, don’t be a fucking bitch and put your arms around my neck,” Yukhei growls, exasperated, ignores the growing lump in his throat. He readjusts Mark’s stiff arms, wraps them around him as tight as possible so they form a cross above his nape, only to fall all over again.

 

Yukhei groans. Despite his throbbing cock aching for release, he pulls out all the way, shuddering at the slight drag and then at the cold air, noting at how the difference in temperature inside of Mark’s hole isn’t of total contrast with the air outside. Mark doesn’t whine.

 

Sluggishly getting up from the couch, Yukhei can’t help but want to tear his own heart out at the sight of Mark, as everything is muddled inside his brain but is still able comprehend the situation. In the background the television shows a man and a woman having an argument in a small, unattractive room, screen overlaid with an obnoxious sepia that obscures their faces even more. Mark’s always hated shows like that.

 

Their looming voices don’t seem to faze Yukhei as he observes around the dim living room, eyes as lifeless as Mark’s. The sunrays that have passed through the cracks of the blinds don’t do much but a help nonetheless.

 

Yukhei’s eyes fall to the counter by the main door. There sits a small, empty vase with a tiny crack on its side. Beside it lies an orange key lanyard, curled and old, and on its end are three rusted keys: one to their apartment, another to their shared bedroom, and the last one to their previous apartment from six years ago; dainty, small and ugly, but still was a home anyway. Mark had decided to keep the key when they’ve moved here, just because he’d thought it special.

 

Yukhei blinks, and then he’s already trudging towards the counter with his cock still so painfully erect. He grabs the lanyard once he’s at an arm’s length and walks back to the couch without much thought. Mark looks alive from a few feet away.

 

Yukhei feels apathetic at the moment however, and it shows as he grabs both of Mark’s arms and ties them together with the lanyard. He’s tied it so loosely, even though there’s nothing to worry about. Once satisfied, Yukhei goes back to his previous position; crouched above Mark, arms at the back of Mark’s thighs. He doesn’t like how stiff and cold they feel on his fingers.

 

This time, he adjusts himself so he can easily move Mark’s tied-up arms over his head and around his neck.

 

He rams his cock back inside in one go. He’s expected the feeling, but still hasn’t gotten used to its unresponsiveness. It feels strange. It’s all the same yet all so different at the same time, but Yukhei’s pushed all rationality aside and fucks Mark even more.

 

This time, Mark’s arms don’t fall over, and the keys on the lanyard jingle along with Yukhei’s unstable thrusts.

 

“Baby, I feel good. Do you feel good? Tell me,” Yukhei feels empty, despite all that. “Mark.”

 

Yukhei thrusts and thrusts even more, the slapping sound of skin to skin and the jingling of the keys mixing together with the static of the radio and the television in the most awful way that it battles with the way Yukhei’s heart is practically mixed with the ugliest of feelings, scrunched up and battered all at once.

 

He doesn’t even know what to feel, or what he’s feeling right now. Not from the moment he saw Mark on the couch in an unusual position, to the moment where he’d realized Mark wasn’t breathing, not even tired at all like he’d thought he was, but dead.

 

It's just there, in his heart, inching slowly to bursting all over the place. It’s indifference, but then it’s not, because it’s Mark, but he’s sure he’d felt it a while ago, he’s sure. There’s his heart devoid of love, but when he sees Mark’s face again, it fills, overflows, and then it stops, drains, to the point where it’s empty again. There’s frustration, because Mark just wouldn’t tighten up on his cock, Mark wouldn’t moan no matter how hard he’d fuck him, and Mark just wouldn’t embrace him without the lanyard tied up around his wrists. Everything is just so utterly confusing, and that’s just it, as how far he can comprehend anything at all right now.

 

Despite the lingering confusion, however, Yukhei decides to just let it be for now, let his cock fuck Mark’s lifeless body for now, because any more would only drown him in whatever it is that should, and he doesn’t even know what it is.

 

Yukhei lowers his head once more so he has a clear view of his face, notices how his cheeks have turned stiffer as they should.

 

“Mark,” he utters for the umpteenth time, utterly dejected and blue, clearly knowing he will never hear him answer back. He drags a hand along his soft, black hair, grips the ends as hard as he can. His eyes have become dull, even more with the dim lighting.

  
  
“You feel so fucking good, baby, so good,” Yukhei says aloud again, but this time, he finds himself sobbing.

 

He doesn’t realize the tears pooling in his eyes just yet. They stay there, until everything is too much. He only catches sight of his own tears sliding off of Mark’s cheeks immediately right after he cums inside of him, Mark’s hole filled to the brim. Yukhei sobs a little more at the sight, because Mark looks alive. He wipes his fingers along the length of Mark’s face as if they’re Mark’s own tears, as if Mark’s the one who’s crying. Yukhei’s tears fall even more, and they fall fast.

 

The sound from the television is faint, as it shows a couple on the bench comfortably sitting with each other in silence, clearly in love, hand in hand. Yukhei can hear himself cry then, the impending static from the radio not good enough on its own, and the jingling of the keys have stopped long since Yukhei painfully rode out his high.

 

“Don’t cry, Mark,” Yukhei pleads, wiping the gradual drops of tears on Mark’s skin and trying so hard to sound comforting, wanting to mask the heaviness of his tone away, just as he’d always been when Mark actually did cry.

 

  
  
-

 

  
The television screen eventually shows of a new scene, this time of the same couple getting married. There’s gradually increasing music in the background. Yukhei moves, although still completely dazed and teary-eyed, and the keys on the lanyard jingle once again.

 

  
  
-

 

  
  
Doyoung is a silent man, and most often than not, a little too harsh. It doesn’t count as special at all, not really. A lot of people have sewed-up mouths and even more are those who speak unfiltered. Mark and Yukhei have long discarded everything away that reminded them of their families, since they were unsupportive, as they have always been against their relationship. Doyoung has always been understandable of that. In no way is Doyoung special, but Yukhei’s always appreciated the man as he is.

 

Doyoung has been with them ever since before the couple’s ungraceful escapade, and he’s always been there after, coincidentally moving to the same town, and accordingly, being the only one who has contact of their hometown.

 

So it’s only normal Yukhei tells him first of Mark’s sudden death immediately that night. And it’s only normal Doyoung calls home, tells his family of the news, since they’ve always known each other despite years of absence. Accordingly, the news is spread to Mark’s family.

 

Not even more than a year after them leaving, Yukhei had wanted to go back. Them running away was a spur of the moment decision. They were young, and they were mad. It had been the talk of the neighborhood. Yukhei knew it lasted for weeks, months even, even if they were no longer there anymore; judging words and hatred alike, from one house to another which eventually settled into Mark’s own household and into his parent’s heart, always brewing and bubbling and never-ending.

 

He had always felt guilty. He didn’t have a better household to feel sorry for running away, but Mark’s was close-knit, always the perfect family, not even a façade to preserve; they had made it so clear their deviation of their relationship, because two boys in a relationship was a sin, more so a disgrace, and it didn’t blend well with their beliefs, not one bit.

 

Mark’s father calls Yukhei an hour after he called Doyoung.

 

“You fucking monster,” is what comes at him first in the most gruesome voice he’s ever heard, and for the first time ever, he understands. “You didn’t even have the fucking balls to call us yourself.”

 

There are faint screams of a woman in the background who he can only remorsefully guess as Mark’s mother.

 

Hearing the death of your own son is never a good feeling. Hearing the death of your own son that’s disappeared for almost seven years is even worse. Mark’s parents have always loved their son very much so, and Yukhei knows they still do, since they have always made it clear back then that their hatred only centered to him.

 

“You tainted our son for years and years and you call us now only to tell us he’s dead,” the father sneers, anger intensifying as quickly as the sorrow in his voice dissipates.

 

Yukhei doesn’t have it in him to respond, the unspoken shame grabbing his ankles and dragging him down more than he already is. They have all the right to say shit about him.

 

Everyone had always said Mark only being blinded by love. Yukhei, at some point, had thought so too, that he’d broken Mark’s family. He would always think their reason wasn’t good enough at all; all out of love and anger, more so the confusion being always present. It’s not becoming of a person to just get away without proper closure, but it’s not completely wrong either. It was all out of spite, but then again, it made them happy without the bounding beliefs of Mark’s parents.

 

Even so, Mark had kept telling him otherwise, that he knew what he was doing despite both of them being only eighteen, so Yukhei would gradually force it down, because he’d always believed in him. It wasn’t completely wrong.

 

“I’m sorry.” Yukhei speaks with heavy heart, ignores the growing lump in his throat, the sting in his eyes. It’s all he can say, and he curses himself for it being so. But it’s really all he can say, and he means it with all what’s left of his heart.

 

 

-

 

 

Yukhei tells their friends, Taeyong, Sicheng, Jaemin, Taeil, and Jeno the day after the call at two in the afternoon.

 

He doesn’t need to tell the family of five, but proved uneasy with how the three children had asked him where the masked men were taking their Mark-hyung, and why he was on a stretcher.

 

He doesn’t bother with the couple to their right.

  
  
  
-

  
Yukhei meets their friends the two days after he’d told them of the news. Their apartment was closed down the whole afternoon the day before for investigation which had ended early, but remained closed until the end of the body examination. Still, Yukhei doesn’t have it in him to go back, not wanting to stretch the wound further than it already is.

 

Consequently, they meet outside the apartment, by the stairwell.

 

Jaemin, Taeil, and Jeno are the first ones to arrive, and Jeno is the first one to cry. They were Mark’s closest friends, after their shared interest in music had pulled them closer they had planned on actually making a song together.

 

Taeyong and Sicheng, his officemates, arrive not a few moments after. Yukhei can see faint tear stain on Sicheng’s cheeks.

 

After everyone has calmed down, Yukhei makes it his opportunity to speak. He’s sat on the bottom step of the staircase, wearing a hoodie that’s starting to smell bad. His voice wobbles. Jeno, Taeil, and Sicheng cry more after that.

 

“Can we see him?” comes Jaemin’s voice.

 

Yukhei tells them they can’t, not at the moment, and their shoulders droop at the answer. Mark’s parents had insisted the body be transported immediately after the examination, which had ended yesterday night.

 

Yukhei had never bothered telling them their story, and Mark’s never said a word anyway.

 

They’re their only circle; they don’t hold that much place in Yukhei’s heart, they’re clueless, but they’re here, and he’s thankful.

 

Before they left, they’d promised to attend the funeral.

 

 

-

 

 

  
“Yukhei.” Doyoung’s voice is firm when he calls out to him. Yukhei is still by the stair case, head down, resting on his knees. He hasn’t moved one bit even after his friends have left almost two hours ago.

 

Yukhei and Doyoung aren’t particularly close but they have small talk here and there. Doyoung screams familiarity, even after all these years, maybe because they’ve grown up together back in their hometown. Subsequently, Yukhei allows himself to let it go just for a bit. He doesn’t cry this time.

 

“It really fucking had to be Mark, hyung," Yukhei starts, "They said it wasn’t exactly rare, but for his age it wasn’t too common either," his voice slightly muffled by the sleeves of his hoodie.

 

Doyoung thinks, opts to talk, but Yukhei doesn’t let him just yet.

 

“And you know what they said? They said that Mark was just one of the unlucky ones, without much remorse-- I know they fucking do their job and it gets shitty eventually but they didn’t have to fucking sound so apathetic,” Yukhei feels a tinge in his heart then, and he grips end of his sleeve out of anger. He doesn’t stop the tears now.

 

“Mark doesn’t deserve this shit. Fuck, hyung. It fucking hurts. My heart hurts so fucking much,” Yukhei adds, in the most pathetic voice he’s ever let out. He feels Doyoung’s warm hand on his back, the act mostly of settled comfort but it only reminds him of the situation, and the ache in his heart worsens even more. He sobs harder.

 

“I don’t know what to do anymore, hyung. Mark’s all I got. And-- and I know what I’ve done. I’ve deprived him off of whatever it is that should have been given to him— _I don’t know_ , I was being selfish back then, I didn’t even think of his family, of our future even. We were struggling all throughout, and he didn’t deserve that either. All he’d done was say he was happy and content, and then he would smile at me and, and I want to see it again, hyung. It hurts. It hurts so much. Everything’s my fault. And Mark’s not here to tell me otherwise anymore.”

 

Doyoung’s brows furrow at the comment. “It’s not—"

 

“Maybe this is my punishment, huh? I’m a fucking monster, his parents were right.” Yukhei interjects, sounding so defeated, rubbing the palm of his hands on his face.

 

Doyoung heaves a sigh, and he doesn’t really meet Yukhei’s eyes yet. Doyoung probably doesn’t want to cry just yet. “Mark was happy, you know,” Doyoung supplies. “I saw. We’ve talked. He was happy. I take it he wouldn’t be happy as he was with you if you didn’t make that grandeur entrance in the last summer of high school. Him dying isn’t your fault. Never will be, really.”

 

“He’d still be happy though, even if he didn’t meet me,” Yukhei murmurs.

 

“I know,” Doyoung can feel Yukhei stiffen at that, and then, “but he chose to be with you. And you’ll have to settle to that one fact. Don’t degrade your relationship as some sort of a bad decision because it’s honestly not. It’s not," Doyoung pauses, hopes for a reaction, but nothing meets him. "I know you think so too. I know you’re too exhausted to think of anything right now, and it’s not like I’m in any place to say this, but don’t degrade it like that. It would only hurt Mark more. I’m sure he didn’t regret anything. He’d always been honest.”

 

Yukhei only shrugs, hug his knees tighter. He looks small and damaged, like a crumpled paper. “You know, the day he died, I went out to buy groceries. He asked me, because he told me he felt lazy. And we didn’t really have any food left. I took my time in the mart, comparing the prices. And the traffic was really bad. I took too long. And then when I got back—” Yukhei sobs, “They told me he was already dead for almost three hours when I got back. I never should have fucking left.”

 

“Yukhei,” Doyoung doesn’t know what to say next.

 

“It’s just so fucking disrespectful of me, to just fucking disappear out of the blue and then come back only to tell them their son is dead. I’m not asking for forgiveness—" Yukhei breathes in at that, "It’s just, I honestly feel so sorry for the things I’ve done.”

 

Doyoung furrows his brows. “Honestly, Mark, you didn’t exactly do right, but it wasn’t exactly wrong either. You believed in what you did. Sure, you had a ton of lapses, both of you, and it was kind of dumb, but you were happy. You survived together. Don’t look down on yourself. Don’t let his parents ruin the genuine love you’ve showed each other.”

 

But Yukhei only curls in himself even more, only heaves a sigh, pauses for a minute, and says, “I’m sorry, hyung. I’m sorry but you're-- they're not helping. Your words aren't helping."

 

“It’s okay. I understand,” comes Doyoung’s reply.

 

Yukhei leans towards Doyoung and his sobbing figure only makes the older want to cry. “I’m sorry.”

 

Doyoung moves his arm so Yukhei is comfortable as he hugs him closer, and when he feels the younger’s warmth on his side, he is slightly reminded that it’s the closest they’ve ever been.

 

“It’ okay.”

 

  
-

 

 

Both Yukhei and Doyoung arrive at their hometown at dawn.

 

Yukhei didn’t want to cower, not with how he’d loved Mark for almost eight years despite the peeking guilt and shame that would pop up whenever.

 

He knocks on the front door of Mark’s family’s house. He looks tired, exhausted. He’d refused to eat large portions, and hasn’t really gotten proper sleep. Doing the things he’d naturally do didn’t feel right without Mark.

 

Mark’s parents look older, as how they should be. There are more wrinkles, and they seem weaker.

 

Mark’s father punches him hard in the face and his mother throws a ton of profanities.

 

Yukhei accepts without hesitation.

 

Doyoung gets punched too, because he’d kept their whereabouts a secret.

 

Mark’s father warns Yukhei not to come near Mark anymore, not to attend the funeral; not anyone, not their own friends.

 

That night, Yukhei calls Sicheng and pours out everything, tells him their story, and tells him how sorry he is, about how they can’t visit Mark anymore, and that he should’ve told them earlier for them to see Mark’s body. Sicheng tells him it’s okay, that there wasn’t a need for an apology, and he promises to relay the message to their friends.

 

 

-

 

 

Yukhei shows up at the funeral the day after.

 

 

-

 

  
On that same day, Yukhei rides the train to go back to their apartment.

 

Immediately after he sets the keys on the table by the main door, Yukhei cries. The television and radio aren’t playing anything and the blinds are open. He doesn’t bother anymore, lets the neighbors hear his anguish, allows the bleeding rays of the sun to laugh at him.

 

It’s the emptiness he feels, and then it’s not.

 

The sun still rises. The birds still sing outside. Yukhei doesn’t like it at all, at how everything is just how they’re used to be, unaffected, as if Mark didn’t breathe his last inside the apartment.

 

The next day, Yukhei wakes up on their shared bed, groggy and tired, at eleven in the morning. He hasn’t showered for almost three days and his hair has gotten rough and oily. The bags under his eyes seem to have hollowed even more, but Mark isn’t here, and it’s all it takes for Yukhei to drop and just let everything be.

 

He spends the next few hours trudging around their room. Sometimes he can’t help but cry, and sometimes he hits his head on the wall, just to lessen the welling ache in his heart. Mark’s guitar rests in between his table and their closet and he remembers Mark playing the guitar almost every day until it almost sounded annoying. Yukhei wishes he shouldn’t have thought of that.

 

Their closet is messy. Mark wasn’t necessarily a clean-freak, and Yukhei isn’t very particular either. Yukhei likes it like that; their clothes jumbled and mixed inside, the hanged ones almost falling off, their pants all crumpled. It screams existence, that they’ve lived and they’ve lived together.

 

Yukhei cooks a meal for himself from the groceries he’d bought. He eats it by the sink.

 

 

-

 

 

 

On the third day, Yukhei spends the whole morning crying on the couch.

 

He spends the whole afternoon crouched on the far end of the living room listening to the radio on the table.

 

 

-

 

 

On the fifth day, Yukhei sleeps the whole morning.

 

He masturbates with Mark’s face and body plastered on his mind. He cums on the sheets with Mark’s name on his mouth.

 

 

-

 

 

On the seventh day, Yukhei organizes their closet.

 

 

-

 

 

On the ninth day, Yukhei packs a few sets of his clothes, grabs the keys on the counter, slides a note for the three kids in their neighboring apartment, and leaves.

 

The three keys on the lanyard jingle along with his steps as he walks down the staircase.

 

 

-

 

 

_“You know I love you right?”  
“Yes. Yes, I do.”_

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/hyucksix) ♧


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